Bird Song (fried chicken)

To the Southerner, there is simply no other food that possesses the stature of fried chicken. It cuts across class lines. (When I was growing up, if we were dressed in church clothes, we'd eat it at the country club; if not, we'd stand in line at KFC and take home a bucket from the Colonel.) It cuts across regional lines (unlike say, gumbo, which is enjoyed in other states but does not retain the same exalted rank outside Louisiana, or pilau, which is relatively unheard of beyond South Carolina). It can also be the subject of intense debate. For example, should the chicken be marinated overnight in milk and seasonings before being coated with flour, or simply washed and dried and coated with seasoned flour? And what should the seasonings be? Also, what should the chicken be fried in, lard or oil? Most cooks I know have passionate, unequivocal answers to these questions. And just about everybody I know has his or her own highly personal benchmark, the standard against which all other fried chicken must be measured.

For my friend Rick Smythe, it's the chicken at Fratesi's, a store on Highway 82 near Tribbett, Miss., where they've been frying chicken at least as long as Rick has been alive. There the chicken is soaked in a mixture of milk and water, coated in flour seasoned with onion salt, garlic salt, Season-All and black pepper and fried in oil. Last time I was home, Rick insisted I try it, so I sampled four pieces until there was nothing left but bones. When I told our mutual friend Ralph McGee that I thought Fratesi's chicken was indeed pretty good, Ralph looked at me as if I was crazy. ''It ain't nothing like Lola Belle's,'' he said, and so it goes.

Lola Belle was the McGee family cook. Lottie Martin was ours, and she really did cook the best fried chicken in the world. And even though I conservatively estimate that I ate more than a thousand pieces of it before she died, I cannot tell you what made it so good. Great fried chicken has an ineffable quality. The cook's hand probably has at least as much to do with it as black pepper versus cayenne; when everything somehow comes together just right, there is nothing better in this world.

The only person I know who has accurately articulated the feelings that good fried chicken inspires is my friend Jimmy Phillips. Like Ralph and Rick and me, he grew up in the Mississippi Delta, and for a while he was a songwriter in Nashville, where he wrote ''Fried Chicken'' and recorded it as a single. He also recorded a really great album that boasted liner notes from no less a personage than Peter Guralnick, but Jimmy left Music City behind and currently hides his light under a bushel by running a ski lodge in Telluride, Colo. None of us can understand this since Telluride is about 10,000 feet above sea level and not, to my knowledge, remotely famous for fried chicken. Fortunately, Ralph still lives in the Delta, below sea level, where he farms and plays a mean guitar. Pretty much every time I go to see him, he plays ''Fried Chicken'' for me, preferably after we've just eaten some.

Since I've always thought the song deserves a wider public, I'm offering the lyrics here, with Jimmy's permission, of course, along with a few notes of my own:

It was high noon, Arcola,
Mississippi, another Sunday feast
Popped my head into the kitchen
and I heard that gurgling grease
I said, Georgie, what you cooking?
She said, Jimmy, what you think?
You better come on in this kitchen
and wash your hands up in
the sink
'Cause we having

Fried chicken. Wing takes a breast,
leg takes a thigh
Rice and gravy, black-eyed peas,
and corn bread on the side
It's a Southern institution
Black skillet is preferred
Fried chicken: a most delightful
bird

Well, first of all, the ''gurgling grease'' line is a genius stroke. People's hearts skip beats when they hear that sound. It is also useful. When the grease is at the right temperature, a little corner of the chicken dipped into it will get that grease gurgling like crazy. That's how you know it's time to slide the pieces in. Second, ''black skillet'' is definitely preferred, if not required. A heavy cast-iron skillet that has been cured over the years, developing that almost menacing blackness (Ralph named his black Labrador ''Skillet''), will cook the chicken more evenly and lend it a deeper color and flavor. Properly seasoned skillets are so valuable that they are handed down from generation to generation.

When we sat down at the table,
it was glorious to see
All that knuckle-sucking goodness
just looking back at me
Grandmama said the blessing but
I could not concentrate
For I had visions of drumsticks
dancing in my plate
Thinking 'bout that
Fried chicken

If you have not been enlightened
May I hasten to explain:
Full awareness is heightened
When the grease goes to your brain

Fighting over white meat, loser gets
the wing
I declare I love that chicken more
than anything
Pass the fresh tomatoes, man, I just
can't stop
And don't forget the sweet potatoes
with marshmallows on the top
To complement that
Fried chicken.

These side dishes as well as those in the chorus are typical accompaniments, although there is very little that doesn't go well with fried chicken. I love it with potato salad and green beans cooked with ham hocks, and I'm in Jimmy's camp where the sliced tomatoes are concerned. Lottie always served her fried chicken with mashed potatoes and yeast rolls, but some people are more partial to biscuits (hence the greasy and extremely tasty examples available at Popeyes and KFC). The other night I served it with corn pudding, but anything equally sweet and starchy -- Jimmy's sweet potatoes, summer squash casserole -- is a good counterpoint to the chicken's saltiness.

I would be remiss here if I didn't address some of the subjects that cause disputes among fried chicken cooks. In recent taste tests I conducted on some willing participants, we all agreed that the chicken that had been soaked overnight in buttermilk was by far the tenderest. Some people don't dry the milk off and dip the pieces into the flour wet, which makes a crunchier batter that holds up better cold. I dry mine off. I also stick with the basic seasonings of plain old salt, black pepper and red pepper (with a bit of paprika for color). For frying, I know old-timers and sticklers who won't use anything but lard. I'm sure it is superior, but vegetable oil and shortening are a heck of a lot easier to find. Melted vegetable shortening, which is what Lottie used, is more refined so that it leaves less odor.

All that said, I don't think I've ever had a piece of bad fried chicken. You just have to be brave that first time at the stove. Or, you can go out. Among my favorites are Sherman's in Greenville, Miss., a former grocery store where I ate the great majority of my chicken after Lottie died and where it is still mighty delicious, and Jacques-Imo's in New Orleans. Last year I ordered 150 pieces from Jacques-Imo's for my friend Anne McGee's surprise birthday party. (She is Ralph's first cousin, and her favorite food is fried chicken -- and yes, he sang the song.) The restaurant received a high compliment when many of the guests assumed the chicken had come from my own kitchen. It's not that I'm a particularly great fried chicken cook; it's just that home-cooked chicken nearly always trumps a restaurant's. Especially a restaurant where the chicken, of necessity, is cooked in a deep fat fryer. As Calvin Trillin has observed, ''A fried chicken cook with a deep fryer is a sculptor working with mittens.''

Which leads me to another of my fine chicken establishments, Prince Hot Chicken Shack in Nashville. My friend Joe Ledbetter (who founded the Houston's restaurant chain with George Biel and knows a thing or two about excellent food) turned me on to Prince's one night by forcing me to try each of their three flavors, regular, hot and extra hot. The extra hot will kill a normal person -- at least a half a bottle of cayenne pepper must coat each piece. But the regular (still plenty hot enough, believe me) is a truly superlative example of what fried chicken should be. After the first bite I said, ''This was fried in a skillet.'' Joe assured me that it had been. Then we all got quiet and went to work eating. It was the closest to Lottie Martin I had felt in 26 years. That ineffable something had happened, that thing that makes fried chicken, as Jimmy Phillips always ad libs when he sings the last chorus to his song, ''a most delightful, quite exciteful bird.''

Fried Chicken

1 frying chicken, about 3 to 3 1/2 pounds, cut into 8 pieces
2 teaspoons salt plus more for seasoning chicken pieces
Black pepper
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 teaspoon hot paprika
Lard, vegetable shortening or vegetable oil for frying.

1. Place chicken in bowl of cold water and soak for a few minutes. Drain chicken and dry well with paper towels. Season chicken with salt and black pepper.

2. Mix flour, 2 teaspoons of salt, cayenne and paprika in a brown paper or Ziploc bag. Add a few chicken pieces at a time and shake until well coated. Remove and shake off excess flour mixture.

3. Over medium-high heat, melt lard, vegetable shortening or oil to a depth of about 1 1/2 inches in cast-iron skillet. When fat has reached about 350 degrees, slip in chicken pieces, dark meat first, being careful not to crowd them. (To test temperature, use a candy thermometer or dip a corner of a chicken piece into the fat; if vigorous bubbling ensues, the temperature is right.) Turn heat down and cook chicken for 10 minutes. Turn pieces with tongs. Cook until other side is browned, another 10 to 12 minutes. Drain on a wire rack over paper towels.

NOTE: To season a skillet: Preheat oven to 200 degrees. Wash new cast-iron skillet with soap. (This will be the first and last time skillet will be touched by soap.) Rinse and dry thoroughly. Rub inside generously with lard, olive oil or vegetable oil. Place in oven for one hour. Turn off oven and leave overnight. The next morning, wipe skillet out. Repeat process. The skillet is ready for cooking. After each use, wipe it out, rinse if necessary and wipe dry. If food sticks to pan, use a nonabrasive plastic scrubber or salt to get rid of it. Rub spot with olive oil.

When I was growing up, if we were dressed in church clothes, we'd eat it at the country club; if not, we'd stand in line at KFC and take home a bucket from the Colonel

Wow! My childhood in print!

One wonders just how "southern" can a writer for the NYT can be? Particulary one who dined regularly at the Country Club and his family had a cook? Most "southerners" wouldn't have anything to do with NYC, let alone the NYT, never dined at the CC on a Sunday (they don't show have NASCAR on the TV in the bar) and Momma did the cooking.

Unfortunately, KFC has changed a lot over the years. Mostly since the Colonel stopped being the boss.

I worked at the first KFC in north Alabama in the mid '60s and actually got to meet the Colonel. This was when he still visited every new store and supervised the training.

I can tell you that they don't season the chicken like they used to, and they don't prepare it like they used to. And it doesn't taste like it used to.

There was a reason that KFC became so successful back then. Back then the chicken was as good or better than most people cooked at home. People today don't know what they missed

All I do is buy a bunch of drumsticks(not Tyson Brand), put em all in a pan, and bake them for 45 minutes.

Cheap, and edible.
Never claimed to be a cook.

All I do is buy a bunch of drumsticks(not Tyson Brand), put em all in a pan, and bake them for 45 minutes..... Cheap, and edible. Never claimed to be a cook.

No offense but... you should'nt.

Damm I miss my mom's fried chicken but she fried it in a big old cast-iron Dutch oven and alway made milk gravy and mash potatos.

I can still hear her yelling at me for always snaking some of the dripping and crispy bits from the bottom of the pan before she could make the gravy

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